


With All Your Heart

by 0hHeyThereBigBadWolf



Series: A Threefold Path [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Awesome Gwen (Merlin), Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Do Not Re-Post To Another Site, Fluff and Humor, Group Marriage, Gwen Knows What She Wants And By God She'll Get It, Mild Smut, Multi, POV Gwen (Merlin), Polyamory, Two Dumbass Sides of the Same Idiot Coin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf/pseuds/0hHeyThereBigBadWolf
Summary: "Accept the things to which fate binds you, and love the people with whom fate brings you together, but do so with all your heart."—Marcus Aurelius, Meditations
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: A Threefold Path [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120076
Comments: 14
Kudos: 183





	With All Your Heart

In the end, it's left up to Gwen.

She isn't a fool. She knows how close Merlin and Arthur are, how tightly they are bound to one another, prince and servant, king and sorcerer. It had surprised some, she remembers, but she knows more than most. She knows all they have gone through together, and the part of her that will never leave her father's forge knows that the hottest fires always forge the strongest steel.

She isn't entirely surprised when the task of taking action is left to her. She loves Arthur dearly, but if left to his own devices, he would have suffered in quiet for an eternity, caught in his sense of honour, fighting his desire under whatever twisted idea of masculinity had been instilled in him by his father, habits they still work to break even now.

And Merlin? He's too used to standing aside for others, too used to keeping out of sight and out of mind, even now after being known by all. He will not make the first move, and he would never do anything to make Arthur unhappy, not realising that he is the current cause. He never sees the faltering, aborted motions Arthur makes towards him, hand lifting as if to touch the unruly curls Merlin's finally grown out, like a quiet freedom. He never sees the way Arthur's eyes track him, the softening of his edges when Merlin laughs, a sound too rarely heard.

"He's lonely," Gwen tells Arthur after they've retired to their chamber for the night, lying against his chest with her head beneath his chin, listening to the deep rush of his breath, like a bellows. "He misses you. He misses both of us."

"We've not gone anywhere," Arthur replies, half-hearted protest.

But they have. She had noticed how Merlin's attitude towards her began to change after Arthur began courting her in earnest, how it had settled once they'd wed. He had stopped being her friend and fellow, the weight of a crown splitting the common ground between them. It had changed how he was with Arthur as well, and though she knows they've never been lovers, she knows Merlin must have known how close they were to it and had worked to set himself apart, to respect the boundaries of marriage. Not just for Arthur, either. She's never told her husband about Merlin's first year in Camelot, about those nights when she taught him the workings of the castle and he taught her how things were done in the countryside. He'd never taken her maidenhood, but he had done things to her that should only be done between a husband and wife.

"He needs us," she murmurs into Arthur's chest, tracing patterns on his ribs.

He doesn't say anything, but she knows he's heard her.

Gwen thinks she ought to write a letter of thanks to Queen Mithian, though how she would explain what exactly she's thanking her for might be…a bit much.

Nemeth, being located along a broad stretch of shore, does trade with Camelot namely in salt, fish, and some other things which are shipped across the Strait. But in recent years, they've also begun trading in spirits, namely a strong wine made from a vineyard's experiment in cross-breeding plants.

Mithian had sent them two casks of it, a gift to mark the five years their kingdoms have been at peace, and after having a glass of it herself, Gwen knows precisely what to do. All she has to do is wait for Merlin to return from his yearly excursion to Ealdor to visit his mother. It's the only time he ever leaves the city without Arthur—but not the kingdom, not after Arthur had…tactfully made a deal to rearrange the borders when allying with Essetir's new king—and it's the only quest Arthur lets him undertake alone, though she knows full well some of his longer 'hunting trips' are excuses to visit Hunith. They've so far been unsuccessful in convincing her to come to the city.

Gwen invites him to dine with her and Arthur upon his return, privately, to talk and catch up with one another, though it's been only a fortnight, and tells Sefa to ensure the kitchen sends up the wine with supper.

Merlin still has no head for wine. Or anything stronger than water, really, but wine always takes him strongest; she still doesn't know how anyone could believe he went to the tavern on a regular basis. Half a cup in, he's already flushed, and by the time he starts his second, he's giggling. Gwen watches him with a smile, aware of how Arthur's gaze has gone soft as well, chin in his palm, one corner of his mouth curling up.

And that is precisely when she excuses herself from the table, promising to be back in a moment, though Arthur gives her a quiet look through his lashes as she goes. Once back in their bedchamber, she picks up a book about a magical adventurer that Merlin had given her, takes a seat by the candles, and waits.

The candle's only burnt down half a mark when the door of their bedchamber opens, and she can't quite fight her grin at the sight of Arthur with a sleeping Merlin in his arms, taking care to guide the sorcerer's head and toes through the frame. "No head for wine," he grumbles. If he's aiming for anything like displeasure, he falls far short of it.

Gwen closes her book and sets it aside. "Yes, I know." That is precisely why she'd sent for it. She goes to pull back the bedcovers, helping off Merlin's boots once Arthur lets him down on the bed. One hand is curled snugly into Arthur's undershirt, the linen bunched in his fingers, and she has to gently pry them loose before she can remove his jacket. Arthur gently cradles a hand beneath his head so she can unwind his scarf.

Once Merlin is settled in their bed, curled up on his side and looking younger, softer, without just those few things, Gwen leans into her husband's side, waiting. Arthur puts a hand on her waist and eases her over half a step so she's standing in front of him, leaning back into his chest instead, his arms enfolding her waist. He's just enough the taller to rest his chin atop her head. "I don't know if I want to shout at you or…" He huffs, breath ruffling her hair.

"Or?" she prompts, nudging beneath his chin.

Facing away, she cannot see his face, but she can hear his smile. "Or kiss you."

"Kisses, if you please."

"As my lady commands." He slides a hand up, fingers touching her chin, guiding her to an angle where he can lean down and oblige, his soft mouth tasting of wine. Steel suits him more than silk, but he has a mouth made for love and wine.

Gwen nips at his chin. "Come to bed, love."

It's amusing to watch Arthur's face when he realises that Merlin is sleeping on his side of the bed and claimed most of his pillow, too. She can almost see him weighing the options as she takes off her slippers and draws on her night-shift, then finally give up and simply settle for lying in the middle of the bed, only halfheartedly tugging at the pillow to claim a few inches of it for himself. Gwen slides in beside him, curling herself against his broad back, one arm over his side and hand resting on his chest. She listens to them breathe and feels them move, and she wonders how either of them could ever find this confusing.

A dam well-built could last a lifetime, but once the first breach appears, the rushing tide follows soon after it.

She doesn't think Arthur notices it—though he may, he is far cannier than some reckon—but she does, and she makes note of each new crack as it spiderwebs out into the next, each new trickle appearing.

The small touches that Merlin had once given so freely reappear, hesitant but then more frequently when no rebuke comes, fingertips skimming arms and shoulders, brushing back unruly hair, straightening out crooked garments. He and Arthur are like self and shadow once more, and if he is not with Arthur, then he is with her, walking with her arm looped through his. Sefa still does her hair in the mornings, but in the evenings, Merlin will pull out the pins and ribbons, running his fingers through her hair as Arthur grumbles and pretends to be cross as he undresses himself, darting glances full of soft affection. He'll bring supper to them, even though he is no longer their servant, then stay to dine with them as well.

Some nights are full of talk, reminiscing on adventures past, or retelling ones from their own childhoods. Arthur recreates one of the games he and Morgana had concocted between themselves as children in which she played the part of a swooning noblewoman and he the role of his own father. He has an uncanny gift for mimicry, and to hear him imitating Uther at his very coolest, announcing high-minded ideas of romance in that crisp, demanding tone has Gwen and Merlin laughing themselves well to tears. Arthur also teaches both Gwen and Merlin how to play chess and Twelve-Man Morris, and Merlin teaches them rattlebox dice and a card game called three-dragon ante, and she eventually gets them both to play by-the-line, a rhyming game her parents used to play with her and Elyan.

Other nights are quieter, filled with only the muffled crack and pop of the fire in the hearth, the quiet scratch of a quill on parchment or the soft ruffle of pages being turned in a book. She and Arthur will sit by the hearth, sometimes reading, sometimes writing letters, and Merlin will stretch out on the furs in front of the fire like some great cat, no matter how many times they offer him his own seat, either reading books of magic recovered from a hidden room in the library or writing in his own grimoire.

He begins sleeping in their bed more nights than not, until it reaches the point where he no longer returns to his own chambers at night, without question or comment from her or Arthur.

Again, it's the wine that puts the final crack in the dam. Gwen really should send Mithian a gift of thanks.

She is kneeling on the hearthstones behind Merlin, running her fingers through his curls, arranging them in a semblance of order, and tying her ribbons through them, as his hair's finally long enough for it. He has just enough wine in him to allow it, swaying a little but staying upright, and when she gives him her hand-mirror to survey the results, he giggles as though he's not seen anything funnier in his life. "I think you ought to keep your ribbons," he laughs, handing her back the mirror.

"If you say." She starts untying them, one by one, combing her fingers through his curls to resettle them; Merlin hums with pleasure and tilts back into her hands. Gwen looks past him to Arthur, sitting in his chair and watching with hooded eyes that have gone dark with want. Deliberately, she lets the end of a ribbon trail over Merlin's collarbone, making him shiver; Arthur's hands flex on the arms of the chair.

Once all the ribbons are undone, she winds them around the comb and mirror handle, setting the lot aside. "Arthur," she says, never taking her gaze from him. "Come help us up."

"As you command, my lady Guinevere," Arthur breathes out, and he says it the way only he does, separating it out with gentle emphasis. _My lady Guin-e-vere._ It's the same way he says Merlin's name.

She holds up her hand, and he curls strong fingers around hers, pulling her up. Arthur hesitates for scarcely a heartbeat before offering his other hand to Merlin. He has to pull with a little more strength, and Merlin staggers slightly as he gains his feet. Arthur puts an arm around him, Merlin's left arm pinned between their bodies, Arthur's hand curled tight around his right arm, holding him in place.

Sliding her own hand up Arthur's chest, feeling the warmth of him through the soft white linen of his undershirt, Gwen curls her hand over his nape and draws him down into a kiss. Arthur gives a low rumble against her lips, fingers digging slightly into her waist. They've been sharing their bed chastely since Merlin began sleeping there as well, not wanting to spook him by bringing intimacy into it too soon, and she's missed her husband's touch.

When they draw apart, Gwen slides her gaze to Merlin. She sees the pulse in the hollow of his throat racing, sees in his face a familiar longing, a quiet envy of the casual intimacy of others, an aching desire to have it for his own. "You're strung tighter than a harpstring, Merlin," she murmurs, reaching out to draw fingertips along his jaw, bringing his gaze to hers. "Shall I see if you sing when I pluck you?"

His eyes widen at the words, the very same words he had whispered to her so long ago, that first secret, giddy night they had spent closed up together in his small room off the physician's chambers. Smiling, she leans in towards him, standing on her toes to kiss him.

Merlin is familiar to her, even after all this time. She still knows the shape of his lips and the taste of his mouth and the feel of his tongue. She wonders if he can taste Arthur on her, then has the thought of what it'd be like to taste him on Arthur's mouth, or the other way around, and her skin prickles with heat, pooling low in her belly, between her thighs.

Arthur's gaze has gone dark watching them, breathing heavier, faint noises escaping him on the exhale. Gwen runs her tongue over her lips, tasting wine and them, and with one hand on Arthur's nape and the other on Merlin's jaw, she applies gentle pressure, guiding them together.

Merlin makes a sound that's halfway to a sob when Arthur kisses him, leaning his body into theirs, mouth opening helplessly. Arthur slides his hand up to the back of Merlin's hair, twisting unruly curls around his fingers with gentle pressure, just the way Gwen has shown him.

When they pull apart, Arthur moves to face fully Gwen, bends to tuck an arm behind her legs, braces the other around her back, and lifts her neatly, carrying her towards the bed; Merlin follows as if tethered, a little dazedly. He sets her down on the bed, then turns to look at Merlin, who is lingering near the foot of the bed as though uncertain whether or not he wants to leap in or run away. Arthur makes the decision for him by grabbing an arm, leaning at the waist, and hoisting Merlin neatly up over his shoulder—earning a surprised, indignant squawk from the sorcerer—and he walks around to dump Merlin on the other side, then climbs up to sit at the foot of the bed in front of both of them, gaze flicking back and forth expectantly.

Gwen helps Merlin sit up, moving in close so she's almost in his lap, one side of her back pressed against his chest in a line of solid warmth. "This is madness," Merlin exhales, breath ruffling her hair. "Madness. You're mad, the both of you."

Arthur flashes his crooked teeth in a grin. "I'm a Pendragon. Madness is to be expected."

Merlin buries his face in her shoulder and laughs, laughs until his whole body shakes against her back, and she laughs with him, knowing that they'll be alright. Grinning, Arthur wraps his arms around them both and pulls them all over into the sheets.

Perhaps it's the wine and the warmth of the room, or perhaps it's simply them, Merlin and Arthur, the presence of the two people she loves best in the world, making her feel giddy and full to the brim with light. Either way, everything in her world exists in a haze of feeling and being, like some strange, wondrous dream half-dissolved in the light of day or a memory gone hazy with years. She loses track of who she's touching and who's touching her, their big hands warm and callused. It is Arthur's shoulder under her mouth, tracing her tongue over the waxy scar of the Questing Beast bite. It is Merlin's chest beneath her hands, marked with that curious burn, the hair on his chest finer, softer than Arthur's. Whose fingers are curling inside her and whose mouth is on her breast, she's less certain of, but it hardly matters, not when it feels this _good._

Not when they're at last, finally, _together._

A tapping noise rouses Gwen from her half-sleep, raising her head from where she had been tucked against Merlin's back. For a moment, she wonders if it's perhaps the fire, charred wood collapsing in on itself into embers. It's dark still, which seems strange, to think that the night hasn't even passed when it feels like she's been here with Arthur and Merlin for an eternity, beside her, inside her, mapping every inch, learning every secret.

Arthur is lying on Merlin's other side, lying face-to-face, knees touching, lower legs tangled. One arm reaches for him even in sleep, fingers curled loosely under Merlin's chin. She smiles drowsily, tracing a fingertip over a crooked scar etching down Merlin's back. Arthur had done the same thing earlier, traced it with a hand even as he pressed in tight, Merlin's body caught helplessly between his and Gwen's. She lets the memory slide away, content to leave it for now and go over it again in detail another time, lowering her head back to the pillows. As she begins to slip back towards sleep, she hears it again: _tap-tap-scritch-scritch-tap,_ coming not from the hearth but the windows.

Ever the light sleeper, Arthur's head lifts, hair ruffled on ends from hands running through it, head turning towards the window. He must be able to see what is making the sound from his place because the corner of his mouth curls up, and he carefully extracts his limbs from Merlin's to rise from the bed, crossing the chamber to the windows.

Aithusa's white hide is given an almost golden cast in the low light of the fire, talons clicking faintly on the stone as she presses through the window—soon she'll be too big for it—and slinks across the chamber towards the bed. When she sees Merlin there beside Gwen, Aithusa cocks her head and makes a soft, inquisitive noise in her throat, _brruphh?_

"Don't you start with me," Merlin grumbles, though his voice is too husky and languid to carry any bite.

Aithusa snorts once, then leaps up onto the end of the bed, delicately picking her way between their feet; Gwen smiles when she sees the young dragoness making herself comfortable at the foot of the bed, tucking her legs under her as a cat would, tail trailing over the footboard. She looks at them with those uncannily intelligent eyes, so very blue in the dim, then tucks her snout to her flank beneath her folded wing.

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but we're actually going to need a larger bed," Arthur announces candidly, and Gwen can't help but giggle at the sight of him, standing there mother-naked, arms akimbo and hair askew as he surveys them. Then, he flashes that crooked, boyish grin that she cherishes for how rarely it's seen and makes a run at the bed like a boy; Aithusa snorts, opening one eye with disgruntlement as Arthur shakes the bed with his landing. "Make way for the king," he declares, and Gwen ends up laughing in full as he crawls over Merlin with playful nudges and jostles, laying on his belly between them.

"Hear him, Merlin?" she remarks, smoothing a hand down the broad span of Arthur's back. For all his scars, his skin is supple and smooth as a child's. "It's almost as if he really believes he's in charge of things around here."

Merlin chortles and drapes an arm over the small of Arthur's back; they're lying so close that his hand rests against Gwen's hip as well. "We'll set him right."

Arthur rolls his eyes, all in fondness, and after a brief tug-of-war with Merlin, he claims one of the pillows and gathers it up in his arms, dropping his head with a soft, contented sigh; Merlin wriggles in closer to his king, one leg hooked over Arthur's.

Gwen stays propped up on an elbow for a moment longer, stroking her husband's hair until she hears his breath slow and level out into the pattern of sleep, her gaze moving between king and consort. A pair yet not twins, bright and dark, and herself the twilight between them. Smiling, she kisses the crown of Arthur's head and lays down with an arm draped over his back, Merlin's skin pressed warm against hers.


End file.
